Flowers for a ghost
by Lock Lokidottir
Summary: My first ever request. 'As John- his John- came into view, deductions started to fire in his head. Not sleeping well. Limp has returned. Depressed. Up until late last night. But the one that killed Sherlock to deduct? His doctor was giving up.' R R!


_My first ever request, from my penfriend and fellow Sherlockian. Prompts: Nearly three years after Richenbach, Sherlock returns. How will John take it?_

_Also, she gave me a bit of fanart to work with (and make a story out of): .com/art/Sherlock-BBC-Good-night-John-294036950 It's beautiful, it really is. :-)_

_So, yeah. I do do any requests- whether it is a bit of fanart that you want me to fashion a story out of, or just give me some promps (ie: John/Sherlock cuddle) and I'll happy to oblige._

_Meanwhile, enjoy!_

_S x_

* * *

2 months prior.

Sherlock stood, just behind a tree, and watched as John knelt by the empty grave.

He laid yet another flower- a red tulip- to the mass of flowers that lay on the cool surface of the tomb.

Sherlock watched intently. The flowers…. No-one had moved the (nearly) three years worth. The flowers at the bottom were black and shades of brown, and dead… but the new flowers blossomed with life and sent heavenly scents into the air.

Sherlock had cracked the code weeks ago. Each flower, never ever the same one… they each had a different meaning. Love, passion, grace, sorrow, grief…. John Watson had put one on the empty grave every day.

John was wearing his stripy jumper today, and some jeans. He hadn't been to work in months, and yet his bank account had stayed the same- Mycrofts doing, Sherlock was certain.

As John- _his_ John- came into view, deductions started to fire in his head.

_Hasn't been sleeping well_

_Hasn't been happy_

_Limp has returned_

_Depressed_

_Up until late last night_

_Started drinking_

But the one that killed Sherlock to witness, to deduct? The one that made his eyes smart? It was the one deduction... the one that told him his Army Doctor was giving up.

Sherlock whipped out his phone, never taking his eyes off John, who crumpled as he wrapped his hands around the cold marble and started to freely sob. He was less than fifteen metres away, but it still felt like an impossible distance to cross.

to:/_Mycroft Holmes_

_I'm coming home soon. You can't stop me. I've been away from John for too long. SH_

* * *

John stood there, trying to make sense of the scene- he let his senses do the work.

He was uncomfortably aware of his clothes- the wind whipping his hoodie in the autumn air, the jeans chafing against his skin...

The smell around him was bitter, and earthy, but punctuated with the sweet flowers he had been laying.

The leaves were flying and swirling around him, a whorl of yellows, browns, oranges, reds and yellows…. But what really messed him up was the man, the man who had jumped off of the roof of Barts three years today…. Was standing right there. Real, so amazingly… _alive._

Sherlock Holmes.

He was looking ragged, more gaunt since John had last seen him. The cheekbones were sharper than ever, his ebony hair longer- nearly covering his eyes- and his lips shaking.

Sherlock glanced at John, then to the smooth and dark gravestone which had a collection of flowers accumulated over a period of three years laying beside it.

'John.'

Before that, John had felt nothing. Not even mild surprise. It took that, and a sensory overload, for the weight and grief of three years.

John's legs folded underneath him, his head banging slightly on the stone behind him. Tears- tears which had been threatening to spill for many years now- started to fun hot and fast from his eyes. His head was pounding (whether from the sudden onslaught of information or the hangover he woke up with this morning, he wasn't sure) and his breath was catching in his throat. With every breath, it seemed like it was stealing oxygen away from him rather than the opposite.

'No!' John howled when he got his breath back. 'No, no, c'mon! This isn't fair!' He was shouting towards the heavens now. It had started to spit with rain. 'I knew there was ghosts, but why _him?_ That's not fair!'

'John?' Sherlock frowned, unsure whether to approach the hysterical man or not. 'I'm not a ghost.'

'Oh?' said John thickly, a twisted smile forming on his face. The sight wanted to make Sherlock grimance or flinch away. 'Then what are you? A sick fantasy of my imagination? Proof that I've finally gone round the bend?'

The words cut Sherlock like a knife. He didn't realise what state he actually left John in- or rather, the destruction that he had caused. He sat down, and hesitantly put his arms around John.

The small man gave a sob and curled so that his knees. Sherlock doesn't bother to stop the tears that form in his eyes and cascade down his cheeks. It felt like a hole in his chest had been blown open and was slowly being refilled with every passing second curled into John.

'John, I've missed you so much.'

Sherlock held him, for minutes, seconds and hours, while John cried and sobbed and begged to the heavens to ask for another ghost to take _his_ place.

'John,' said Sherlock firmly, looking deep into those tired, sapphire blue eyes. 'I am not a ghost. I'm here, I'm real. And I promise, I will never, ever leave you again.'

Johns lip trembled.

'No. You were just the ghost. The ghost I left flowers for every day.'

The words... who knew they could be so powerful? The powerful sociopath broke, and tears fell faster than ever before, and he found himself scrabbling on John's jumper.

Sherlock cupped John's face, John's hands ran down Sherlocks back, gripping handfuls of coat and tugging him closer.

Bith mens blood rushed, boiling in their veins at the soft contact of each others lips. John couldn't believe it- Sherlock, his Sherlock, was here and smooth and warm and perfect, and so so not dead.

Sherlock couldn't believe it either, but in a way it felt so right. He was the brain- the cold, machine, constantly working- and John was the heart- always feeling, beating, alive. Both couldn't exist without eachother... it would be impossible.

John let out a huff of air and pulled Sherlock as close as he could get. Softly nipping and biting, making sure to keep his eyes half open so that he wouldn't wake up and find Sherlock gone, that this had all been a dream.

Sherlock felt John's body rock in a silent sob. _Then_ was when the kiss became deeper. John's tongue grazed against Sherlock's plump lips, not bothering to ask permission as his skilled tounge darted through Sherlock's lips. The feeling was fantastic. Both men felt the firey passion, the hunger of the kiss start to grow more and more until it was almost unbearable.

John parted, panting for air, and entangled his fingers in Sherlock's dark hair. He pulled his head up, exposing a long, white neck, the artery fluttering underneath the pale canvas.

'Dont ever do this to me again!' John growled. Sherlock pulled his head free, and looked deeply into his eyes.

'I promise you John, I will never ever do this again.' He said it like it was something that he could wrap up and give to John as a gift. A few more stray tears ran down John's cheeks, before they kissed again- slower, sweeter this time, but there was still a desperate edge to it.

He felt the hunger of John's kiss grow more alarmingly- he suddenly gripped Sherlock's head and _crushed _his mouth to Johns, knocking noses and teeth together. Sherlopcks eyes widened and his eyebrows felt towards his hairline.

John parted again, his cheeks flushed, eyes still bright, but with a dangerous dark look to them that made Sherlocks stomach drop. Sherlock looked at his maddened companion sadly, cupping his cheek.

'That's an adrenaline reaction,' Sherlock says gently to John as he tried in vain to recapture Sherlocks mouth.

'Yes, obviously, I do _know, _I _am _a doctor,' John snaps, eyes flashing in frustration.

'You don't actually want to do this; me, I mean. Its a spur of the moment-'

'Wrong, Sherlock,' said John, fighting against Sherlock who is trying to hold him off with a forearm. 'I can't remember the last time I wanted anyone so badly. I could die, right now, Sherlock. _Please._'

'Fine, but let me explain first, and lets get back to 221B. You look freezing.'

* * *

The rest of the evening was a sweet dream and a beautiful nightmare.

John was angry, once the initial shock had faded. He swore, he stamped his feet, he cried- all normal reactions from someone, who, for three years, thought his best friend had been dead.

The mood swings- Jesus, they scared even _Sherlock. _The way the army doctor could be perfectly calm one moment, then thowing plates the next was enough to make his head spin.

But then, after the anger, came the tears. Sherlock held John for three hours while he simply sobbed, and mumbled inchoherant words against his chest, before shuffling into a more comfy position and crying some more. By the end of it, John had red rimmed eyes, messed up hair and a blotchy face.

After the tears, waltzed in the silence. The silence was by far the worst- John sat, staring into space while his thoughts whizzed around erratically inside his skull. Sherlock tried to explain, make conversation- but it didn't work.

Finally, Sherlock got to his knees, and held Johns hand. John looked down, surprised to see the detective in such a submissive position- the wide blue eyes, the ruffled hair, and the face shape was enough to make Sherlock look infantile.

'John... I love you. It killed me not to be with you for three years. Three years we could've spent together-' John looked away, until Sherlock tilted his chin. '-But we have now. Now is our chance. Well, my chance-' Sherlock bit his lip, suddenly looking about twenty years younger and uncharacteristically nervous. '-I love you, John Watson. If you want me, I have always been yours. You have my heart, whether you like it or not... I understand if you don't feel the same.'

Johns heart gave a small thump, then a bigger thump as the words sunk in.

'You really do... like me? Love me?'

Sherlocks mouth curled up into a smile. John found it strange to have the detective smaller than him, rather than looming over him.

'Obviously.' He took Johns other hand. 'I love you, John.'

John got down there with Sherlock and brushed his lips against his. Not hungrily this time, but soft and slowly, just enjoying the bliss and the company of one another. John opened his eyes- he still didn't know whether this was a dream or not- and looked at Sherlock's pained, but sweet and relaxed features. He looked beautiful and peaceful in the dim light.

Sherlock silently slipped his fingers through Johns, and tugged him towards the bedroom.

John's heart was thumping in his chest, as was Sherlock's. Sherlock, however, kept his cool and aloof exterior in check as he entered Johns messy room and lay on the bed, the springs creaking softly. He turned on his side and watched John with silvery eyes, bright with curiosity.

John lay silently on his outstreched arm. When he did, it seemed natural to lay his head on Sherlock's chest and wrap his arms around his middle. John snuggled in closer, smelling the scent of Sherlock- Nicotine, Axe body spray, coffee, the slight undertone of a chemical- bleach?- and of violin resin that he put on his bow. It was like he had never left, John thought with a small smile.

Despite being fully clothed, John soon fell asleep... But no nightmares woke him. Not today. No more gunshots, bodies, or eye wrenching, tear jerking scenes behind his closed lids.

No, not tonight. He was protected, for the first time in three years... he was protected by his very own guardian angel, breathing softly by his side.

Sherlock stayed awake for quite a long while afterwards, watching John with his steely gaze. He sighed, after a while, and stroked Johns hair and fell asleep, arm still curled around his sleeping John.

They are two halfs of a whole, really... The heart, and the brain. One cannot function without the other, it is a biological impossibilty. So both boys slept soundly, smiling softly, arms still locked possessivly around eachother.

And you know what?

Nothing in the world would've convinced them to let go.


End file.
